Delphi had not been born to be sworn into secrecy to be.
Her three children set aside, within the sea.
Slain she was, like a serpent of old.
But her heart was not evil, but gold.
Her blood was milk, her skin like silk.
Her breasts were the neckrests, for children of the crest.

As though birds of a feather, to warfare they account.
The three cubs of the bear, bird and hound.
They seek to hunt, through goddess Athena.
The metaphorical embodiment, of battle in the arena.

And thus Delphi's milk, brought life to battle.
The kings would die, for they were cattle.
Their blood enchanted, milky-white.
For Orion's hound howls, from the bright moonlight.

The bear does roar, like the mother he'd forlorn.
And the bird searches to hunt, to settle the score.

Oh sacred blood of the mother, as king I ask, let there be no other.
Let me be the vanquished amongst your milk.
Let me suckle the teat, and wear your silk.